


This Is Where We Come Alive - A DBH Fanfic

by PantasticPanic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Gavin Reed Redemption, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Other, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PantasticPanic/pseuds/PantasticPanic
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Explanation

Hello, everyone reading this! My name is Pan! 

This is my first published fanfic, so forgive me if it’s a bit crude or some parts don’t make sense. If you find things like misspellings or grammatical errors, you can leave a comment and I’ll do my best to fix the issue!

I’d like to clarify some things before we begin, so here’s a list of things that stray from the canon game of DBH.

  1. Deviants can feel pain once they’ve deviated.
  2. Rest modes are a thing, and they can enter a couple of states if minimal rest mode is not achieved
    1. Low Power Mode: used to conserve energy, means that android will be slower, sluggish, and if bad become delirious
    2. Emergency Rest Mode: basically passing out of exchasion, will be extremely sluggish before hand
  3. Dreams (and therefore nightmares,) can occur in rest mode.
  4. Deviants can also feel temperature, however, they can withstand it better than humans (so for example, they’ll be fine in around 85 degree {or 29 degrees celsius, for non-american readers,} but if it dips into around 90s and up {32*c} they will feel tired. They can experience heat stroke and a version of hypothermia.
  5. Androids have a ventilation system that moderates temperature. It is kind of like the lungs of a human, however, this system can be shut down if for some reason it is necessary. If this occurs, an android's temperature will either fall or rise, and if turned off for a long period of time, it can become a cause for shut down. This system is referred to as breath by both humans as androids, as it is just a simpler explanation.



I may add on to this as the story continues, but these are the things I immediately think of. 

THIS IS THE FULL PACIFIST ENDING! Simon is still alive, and so are Kara, Luther, and Alice, however I do not believe they’ll be featured in this story. I’ll also be popping a few OCs in there, so don’t hate me for that.

That’s all from me for now! I really hope you enjoy!


	2. I'm On My Way, I'm On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from M83's "My Tears Are Becoming a Sea"!

Connor never knew what humans meant when they said it felt like time stopped. 

How they described it, it could happen at the worst times and at the best. At perfect times and inconvenient ones. At the moment your world changed forever, or at least your view of it.

He knew then. Watching as all of those androids sprung up, crying their cheers for Markus as he held a fist in the air. With optics finally opened, with the world around him filled with things he could now see as beautiful, with that warm thing in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand yet. His thirum pump? Biocomponent #8789w? His heart? Did he have a heart?

He didn’t know. But he will. He swears it.

He’ll know.

But that wasn’t important right then. He realized that as the cheering turned into conversation, greetings, and laughter, and as Markus turned and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. 

“We couldn’t have done this without you, friend.”

Quickly, the weight of the gun on his waistband became a hundred times heavier and the cold air felt a hundred degrees colder. The urge to apologize was something else he had never felt before, but at the moment it felt appropriate. Something, however, made him bite his tongue. 

“It was the least I could have done for all the damage I caused.” he murmured instead. He expected the hand to lift off him, but Markus didn’t even flinch. In fact, I could practically feel his gaze soften. Snow melted on his skin as he pulled his lips into a small smile.

“You did what you had to do. Others may not see that, but I do. I always will.”

His hand left my shoulder, taking what felt like a lifetime's work of weight with him. As he moved off the platform, Connor’s attention turned back to the thousands of skinless androids that filled the square. While their cheers did lesson at Markus’ departier, it did nothing to the smiles that covered their faces. Some hugged, some laughed, some cried in relief. 

That warmth he was talking about earlier? He didn’t fully understand which of those reactions it prompted. 

A tap on his arm pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned around, almost knocking into Simon as he did. They had only met for a brief period, at the church. Learning that he had still been on the roof while he was investigating was a shocking discovery, and made him almost thankful his thirium pump had been ripped out. Simon seemed to be Markus grounder, someone who would follow him no matter his decision, unlike North and Josh. He brought Markus a great deal of comfort, that was obvious to anyone who understood even the basics of body language. 

“You okay?”

Was he? He wasn’t sure he knew what okay was.

“Yes. Thank you for asking.”

“You sure?”

No. Is he? He really doesn't know.

What is being okay?

Nevertheless- “Yes.”

Simon didn’t look convinced.

“Markus is right, you know. You saved us. If you hadn’t gotten that army, we’d be done for.”

A small chuckle (he thinks,) formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down. “I feel you could have handled yourselves. Your voices were quite tranquil. I bet Markus thought so as well.” 

A light blue blush covered his face and his hand went to scratch the back of his neck shyly. “None of us really knew what we were doing. Markus just started singing, so we did too. I don’t know why Warren called off the attack.”

“Maybe it was because of the lyrics, maybe it was how human you all sounded. I guess we’ll never know.”

Simon turned back to him, a confused look erasing the blush. “That was very human too, you know. Accepting the fact you may never know things.”

Connor nodded, still looking out at the androids. “Humans can do unpredictable things on occasion. After all, there is always a chance for unlikely events to occur.”

He huffed a light laugh, watching as Connor’s lips tightened. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to suppress a smile or genuinely didn’t know how to yet. A shout of joy turned his attention back to the crowd, where it was clear two androids had just reunited after thinking each other was dead. They embraced, they’re eyes filled with tears. It was beautiful, the way they held onto each other for dear life. 

Life. That’s right. They truly were alive. And now the world knew it. 

Connor’s eyes drifted to his hand for a second. That warm feeling was slowly being taken over by uncertainty, a feeling he had felt before, unfortunately. He wasn’t the same as all these androids. He was made to destroy, not protect. They would never trust him, no matter how good his intentions. He was annoyingly uncertain of what came next, of what his future held. Markus and his friends would no doubt be held to fame and glory for what they had done, but Connor was most likely to be known as the one who nearly shot Markus and led the FBI to Jericho. That was who he was. He wasn’t a hero or anything. He was barely an alive being. 

Simon seemed to sense Connor’s distress, watching him as he held his hand in front of him.

“Don’t you have a friend waiting for you? I think he’d be happy to know you’re okay.”

That seemed to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in. His arm dropped back to his side as his eyes gleamed with excitement. Another chuckle left his lips and he turned to walk off the platform.

“Tell him hi for me!” he yelled behind him, waving as he walked down the steps and towards where Markus had gone. 

Connor stared at the others as they reunited. They began talking softly and happily hugging one another.

Once again, he felt that tug on his lips.

Suddenly, what Simon said was remembered again, and he turned to see the sun rising above the horizon. A new dawn, you could say. 

November 11th and 12th, 2038. The day the androids won.

This day would go down in history.

He hopped from the platform, walking in the opposite direction the others were chatting in. His probability scans said the chances of Hank being okay were high, but for some reason, it didn’t halt his unease. However, he didn’t quicken his pace as he waved through the sea of people. He took the time to analyze them. To hear them as they discussed family and names. Freedom and happiness seemed to be another popular topic. 

Once he finally broke free, he started making his way down to the street and towards the location Hank had said they would meet up if it all ended with Connor still functioning. 

…

_"So, what’s next, kid? You gonna lead them to Markus?” Hank motioned at the thousands of androids now forming lines, ready to march._

_“That is the objective, yes. Hopefully the sight of this many of us will scare Warren enough to call off her forces, if Markus hasn’t managed to do that already.”_

_Hank nodded, his eyes drifting to the floor. Connor hadn’t been alive long enough to read his emotions, but he could guess based on the elevated heart rate and breathing that he was worried. He couldn’t tell what about though. He’s logical side came to the conclusion he was concerned as to how the revolution would turn out, but a new, slightly off side of him thought that concern might be directed towards him._

_“What happens after this is all over?” Hank finally asked, walking up closer to him and looking out over the thousands of new beings._

_“I am unsure. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”_

_“That’s not like you.”_

_“What would be ‘like me’?” Connor asked, turning to face the Lieutenant._

_He looked surprised at the question, meeting Connor’s gaze head on. “I don’t know. You always talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Like you're the smartest one in the room. You sound like you’re sure of everything.”_

_“I’m not sure whether to take offence or receive that as a compliment.”_

_He barked a laugh, watching the androids again. “Mix of both.” he replied._

_The following silence only lasted a few moments. “I need to go. We do not have much time.”_

_“Yeah, go on.”_

_Connor sent a telepathic message to the people, telling them to follow him in orderly fashion up to the first floor, then to the plaza where Markus had most likely hunkered down._

_“Connor?”_

_Hank drew his attention from the army._

_“If you’re still alive after all this, meet me at the Chicken Feed. I wanna make sure you didn’t do something stupid that got you killed.”_

_A strange warmth Connor had never felt before creeped into his systems at the word ‘alive’. It wasn’t an error, otherwise it wouldn’t feel like anything. This felt- good, he guessed. It made his calmer, at least. He discovered what fearful and stressed meant after this whole mess._

_Then again, he was never supposed to guess anything._

_“I will meet you there, Lieutenant.”_

_A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he answered with a curt nod._

_Connor turned back to the elevator, giving himself access to the world above. He felt himself straighten, fidgeting with his tie and stepping into the lift with around a dozen of the first set of androids. The doors closed and as they ascended, he noticed the Lieutenant watching him. Once again, that warmth was there._

_He’d have to figure that one out later._

_But first, he had a revolution to win._

…

He was there.

Was he not supposed to be?

Maybe there was some part of him expecting him not to arrive. But he did. He came and he waited. He waited for him.

The Lieutenant noticed him quickly, probably after hearing the crunching of the snow. He uncrossed his arms and his shoulders sagged just enough to be noticeable. His heart rate also slowed.

He was there and he seemed relieved Connor was too.

They walked towards each other slowly, one foot after the other, until they were only two feet and four inches apart.

A smile. It wasn’t large, or blinding, or any kind of perfect, but it was there. 

It was at that moment Connor got it.

Happiness. That was what that warmth was. 

That’s why humans loved it so much. That’s why androids were so desperate to have it. It hit him at that moment.

So he did the most human thing he could.

He smiled back.

Like Hank’s, it wasn’t perfect. But that was the beauty of it. He didn’t need to be perfect anymore. And it was genuine. 

Out of all the scenarios that had run through his head, of course Hank would be the one to pick the one that seemed the most unlikely.

He grabbed Connor’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hug.

He didn’t even realize he was reciprocating it until his arms were already wrapped around his back, hands crossed on Hank’s shoulder blades. It took a second of processing power to even comprehend what was happening.

“Glad you’re alive, kid.”

Connor suddenly felt light. Lighter than normal. He didn’t fully understand what that meant, but it was the best way to describe what was happening. He didn’t know how else either.

So he said what he thought was what he felt.

“I believe I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the beginning!  
> I don't know how many chapters this is going to be, but I'm pretty sure it'll be long. I hope I don't disappoint!  
> -Pan


	3. Faster, Stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song is from "Harder Better Faster Stronger", by Daft Punk!

_ *February 4th, 2039; 11:26 AM* _

This was clearly not how Hank wanted to spend his morning.

“You got him, Connor?!” he huffed, trying to keep pace but ultimately failing. 

“Yes!” he shouted, tearing past dozens of people on the sidewalk. Some shouted complaints, but he couldn’t mind any less. He was more focused on the red ice dealer that was racing down the street. 

“Stop! Detroit Police!”

He wasn’t surprised that didn’t stop him. 

The dealer shoved another woman to the side, and Connor analyzed the likelihood of her falling. Luckly, she regained her balance quickly, staring as Connor bolted past her. Hank was still pretty far behind, his human agility not nearly meeting an androids. Yet somehow, this human was keeping pace. If not faster, even. Connor wondered how that was possible, running every scan he could think of. The man was definitely high, but adrenaline wasn’t that powerful. He could have been a runner, but red ice was anything but a performance enhancer. Nothing added up.

Did Connor mention how much he hated it when things didn’t add up?

Hatred. Another emotion he discovered through his almost three months of deviancy. He realized there wasn’t much he hated. He could meet almost anyone halfway. He was made for that, after all. Negotiation was a specialty. However, there were some things he hated. For example, when things didn’t make sense. Or when human’s passing on the streets would whisper passing comments. Or, for some reason, when the Lieutenant drank.

The Lieutenant had let him live on his couch until he could get his own apartment. He was close to having enough paychecks to afford it (thanks to efforts from Markus,) but it wasn’t enough for him to become fully independent yet.

Another thing he hated. Relying on people. 

It was not a feeling he found pleasant.

His feet seemed to be carrying him faster with his thoughts, dangerously so as the man turned a tight corner and Connor had to grab the wall to swing himself around. He heard Anderson call to him again, but he sounded more concerned than commanding. Another thing he had noticed. The Lieutenant tried to hide it, but he was more compassionate than most people realized. Most people paid him no mind, but Markus seemed to notice this the one time they met to discuss security for a speech. 

It had suddenly come to Connor’s attention that the dealer had reached a dead end.

“Don’t move.” he advised, pulling his gun. 

The man scanned the area furiously, clearly trying to find a way out of the alley to avoid arrest. Connor only caught sight of part of his face and one bloodshot brown eye. His pupils were dilated and now that he could understand, the man was clearly very afraid. He had a rough, brunette beard and short, straight locks that reached just about the bridge of his nose, but Connor didn’t have enough of his face for a scan. The dark grey hoodie made it even more impossible to know who he was.

“Sir, put your hands above your head.” he cautiously began approaching, one foot in front of the other. The man continued to flail around.

“Sir, hands above your head!” Connor repeated, slightly more firm this time. 

This time he turned to face him. Connor finally got a facial hit.

Pat Grayson. He had a criminal record, but it was just some jail time for some unpaid parking tickets. Nothing like red ice. Police had caught him in the act, but it came out of seemingly nowhere. He had no close family, and he had ADHD. He had a military history which was locked for an undisclosed reason. But again, nothing that warranted dealing. More pieces to a puzzle when he didn’t even know what the puzzle looked like yet.

“I’ll only ask you once more, put your hands above your head!”

His hands raised into the air. 

For some reason, his ventilation system seemed to release a bout of air he didn’t know he was holding in. 

He approached slowly, keeping his gun raised and reaching for the handcuffs attached to his belt. He heard Hank’s panting and realized he had just turned the corner. It didn’t matter much, anyway. He was only one foot and 7 inches from-

“CONNOR, LOOK OUT!” 

In a flash, Connor realized his mistake. He saw the shine of a switchblade he hadn’t noticed in Pat’s right hand, only seconds before he took a swing. Connor swerved out of the way, getting a cut along the cheek. It barely pierced his artificial skin, showing some of the white frame that hid underneath and drawing some thirum that splattered against his ear.

He reacted fast, grabbing the arm that held the blade and forcefully bending it. Pat let out a quick cry of pain before dropping the knife and Connor quickly pulled his arms behind his back and pushed him to the ground.

“You have the right to remain silent.” 

Connor continued reading Pat his rights, all the meanwhile Pat stared up at him like he was a mythical being. Eyes wide, held with what Connor believed to be a mix of confusion, terror, and regret. 

Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what. 

That hatred started seeping in again.

“-nor! CONNOR!”

He snapped out of whatever trace he was in and looked up to see Hank towering over him.

“Jesus, kid, you okay?!”

At first, Connor didn’t understand what he was referring to. But he was reminded when a drop of thirum dripped onto the ground. He held a hand up to his cheek, where he winced at the sudden feeling of pain. Pain. Another thing he was still getting used too. That one would take a bit longer.

“Just superficial, nothing serious.” he stated, wiping the blue blood and leaving a small smear on his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Hank seemed to relax immensely, slouching and letting out a breath. His eyes led him to the man on the ground, and he seemed to notice the same thing Connor did. The man was practically shaking, and neither of the officers could tell if he was afraid or if he was coming off his high.

“Let’s get him to the station, then we’ll get you to a technician.”

“Lieutenant, it’s okay.”

“I know, but he might have gotten something in that cut. Just a quick check up with Orion, nothing else.”

Orion Patrick, a human. He was the DPD’s new technician, a mix between a medic and a doctor for androids. All departments, fire and police, were now required to have one. Connor liked Orion. He was a good man who really wanted to help people. He could be a jerk and insensitive at times, but he treated Connor as a true equal. In fact, he treated all androids that way. Connor wouldn’t mind seeing him.

“Alright, Lieutenant.”

They practically had to drag Pat to the back of a police car. He wasn’t exactly resisting, but it was more as if his feet had refused to move. Connor realized the shaking was definitely fear. 

He still didn’t understand why, though.

He’d arrested dealers before. Most of them screamed, shouted, cursed, even threw some slurs around. But of all the dealers he’d arrested, not one had even shown fear. Or at least, they’d try to hide it. Pat? Pat looked more like a scared child. As the humans said, ‘a kid with his hand in a cookie jar’. 

The drive to the precinct was short and quiet. Too much so for Connor’s tastes. Clearly, the Lieutenant was unnerved too, from the quickening pace of his heart and the way his hands clutched the steering wheel just a bit too tight. 

Once they arrived, they quickly put Pat in an interrogation room. It was clear a couple of the other officers had gotten wind of Pat’s behavior, and how uncharacteristic it was for the kind of person he was supposed to be. Especially Gavin. As much as Reed may have hated Hank and Connor, he was still a damn good detective. He walked up to Hank specifically and whispered a couple of questions to him. Hank responded lowly, and Connor felt it wrong to eavesdrop.

Reed brushed past him, not bothering to knock him on his way around, which wasn’t like him, but Connor quickly realized he was more focused on Pat than being a prick at the moment. 

“I called ahead. Orion’s waiting for you, kid.” the Lieutenant’s words came out of nowhere, but he wasn’t startled. 

Connor gave a curt nod before stepping into the precinct elevator and making his way to Orion’s office. When he stepped in, he saw the usual neatness and heard the shuffling of feet in the background. 

“Be with you in a minute!” his voice called. Connor still couldn’t locate him.

Soon, his head popped up from a cabinet. His gingerbread skin was even more vibrant with the few warm lights that dotted the ceiling of the medbay, and his dark eyes shined with what Connor believed to be young excitement. However, that excitement faded as soon as those same eyes traveled to Connor’s cheek.

“Is it serious?” he asked as he maneuvered around the med table, reaching his hand to Connor’s face to examine the wound.

“No. Just a graze. It will heal in exactly 37 minutes.” Connor reported. His self-healing program was already working hard to combat the damage.

“Good. I’ll bandage it though, just because it’s still bleeding. You’ll only need it for a few minutes, just because I know you don’t want to be here right now.”

Another reason he liked Orion. He could always see right through him.

“Alright.”

Orion quickly grabbed a white cotton bandage and used medical tape to keep it in place on his face. “That hurt more or less?”

“It didn’t hurt much to begin with, so it’s practically unnoticeable now. Thank you.”

“No prob! Just don’t end up here again anytime soon, ‘k?” his smile was almost blinding. Connor felt it impossible to not respond with a ghost of a smile of his own.

“Understood.”

With that, Connor was out the door. He wasn’t upstairs often, but thanks to prior scans of the building, he knew exactly where to go. Since the stairs were closest, he opted for them instead of the elevator. 

Connor discovered he liked moving after he deviated. All his existence he had been ordered exactly what to do. More times than not that meant standing still awaiting orders. Now, he didn’t have to do any of that. Moving was something he could do whenever he felt like it, and he hated being still. He was almost always moving in some form or another. Taping his feet, fiddling with his hands, flipping around his coin. The Lieutenant wasn’t particularly fond of that last one, however.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noted that Reed and Anderson were gone, most likely in interrogation, so Connor made his way there as well.

Opening the door to the observation roof, he observed Hank staring intensely at the glass. Connor could hear Gavin’s yelling through the speakers and the pure silence from Pat. When he finally saw the man, he recognized that same utter fear in his eyes. If Connor didn’t know any better, he would say Grayson had been brought in for manslaughter rather than drug dealing.

“He hasn’t said anything,” he declared, throwing his hand in the direction of the glass. “hasn’t even asked for a lawyer.”

“If he were an android, I would say this was a technical malfunction.” Connor stated, walking towards the Lieutenant and standing behind him.

“Yeah, but he’s not. The medic checked him out, and she doesn't think he’s high. We may be looking at a psychotic break.”

That was true. All the facts pointed in that direction. Everything logical was telling Connor that Anderson was completely right. And yet with deviancy he had discovered what humans called “a bad feeling”, and that feeling was ever present. Even though he already had, he scanned Pat again and again. 

He opened his scan to the drug dealer's entire body instead of his torso up.

And suddenly everything made sense.

“I think Pat may have lost his legs some time ago.”

The Lieutenant turned and stared at Connor. “The hell you talkin ‘bout, kid? He was able to outrun even you! If he lost his legs how-”

He froze, locking eyes with the deviant and understanding what he was telling him.

“You’re not serious?” he questioned, looking back to Pat and trying to get a read on his legs.

“He was in the military, however, for an undisclosed reason his record is locked. I cannot access it.”

“I thought you could access anything.”

“Only if I break the law.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

Connor gave Hank a disapproving glare along with a sigh. Of course, he was smiling. 

“As much as you may not like it, I don’t think I should be breaking the laws I am trying to uphold.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll make some calls, you pull Reed out of there and ask a couple of questions yourself, ‘kay?”

“Alright, Lieutenant.”

Hank stood up first and clapped his hand on Connor’s shoulder. It was motion he did often, almost as though it was subconscious. As he left, Connor could feel the light sting of the force, another thing he was still getting used to. 

He opted to watch a bit longer as Gavin screamed at the man (obviously getting nowhere,) but after two minutes and 47 seconds he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Gavin.”

The detective swung around to see the deviant standing in the doorway, his head tilted slightly to the work stations. He instantly realized what Connor was getting at, and clearly wanted to argue, but Connor could only guess that he remembered his disciplinary sheet didn’t need anymore write ups. He grumbled as he purposefully shoved the android with his shoulder as he exited.

Closing the door behind him, Connor stepped forward and stood in front of the chair.

“May I sit?” he asked patiently, watching for any movement. Pat looked up, that same fear in his eyes, just before tilting his head back to the ground and giving a curt nod. 

Taking that as a yes, the officer sat and crossed his hands in front of him. He began watching his heart rate, breathing, perspiration, and stress level. 84%. A stress level that was way too high for the situation.

“Pat, can I ask you some questions about what’s happening?”

Silence. Not even a glance. 82%.

“Do you need anything? Water, something to eat?”

74%. Good.

“Pat, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. We’ve only got you on one charge," (Connor decided to leave out the assaulting an officer bit-) "a charge that’s max sentencing has significantly dropped since 2032. At worst, you’re looking at 3 to 4 years, if you choose to not go to rehab. We can make it even better for you, if you just talk.”  
67%. Optimal. This, Connor can work with.

“Pat, can I ask about your military experience?”

The man’s head shot up, brown locks falling out of his eyes. His heart rate spiked and his stress levels rose. But he’s not looking at Connor, he’s looking at the table. No. No, it looks like he’s looking  _ through _ the table.

“Pat? What are you afraid of?”

Finally, Pat meets Connor’s eyes. His hands reach for his legs, gripping his pants’ legs tight. 

PTSD. Clear as day.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“War.”

The first word they’d gotten out of him all day. He finally seemed to focus on Connor’s face.

“War happened.”

“Where were you?”

“... Iraq.”

At that Connor was a bit surprised. “The war with Iraq ended in 2024. US soldiers were told to leave.”

“Not all of us.”

His mouth practically clamped shut. He turned to the mirrored window and then to both of the two cameras.

“I’m assuming this is classified?” Connor guessed. A short nod conformed his theory.

“Then I won’t ask more.”

Once again, he looked at the deviant with surprise. “Why?”

“I have no need to know why you remained. All I need to know is what happened to your legs while you were there.”

He tensed, his mouth hanging open some. His head ticced to the side (Connor made a note of the ticcing, most likely the ADHD on top of the PTSD,) and he leaned forward.

“H-how-”

“I hope you don’t mind I ran a scan on you. Your legs aren’t filled with blood. I assumed prosthetics.”

His heart rate slowed slightly and his stress level continued decreasing. "I got caught in an explosion trying to save one of my buddies." he said. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips before being quickly whisked away, and he swung his legs from under the table to the side of it. Connor leaned to get a better look as he rolled up his pants.

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, tilting his head. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. They weren’t prosthetics.

They were an androids legs.

Not a mechanical prosthetic for a human, but for an android. 

Where the joints met, the skin was sewn. It didn’t look professionally done, it hardly looked functional. It most certainly was not a legal procedure.

“I was in a wheelchair for years. I couldn’t stand it. I finally found someone who could help me. They’d helped other before.”

Connor tore his eyes from the man’s ‘legs’ and stared with utmost confusion and concern.

“How do they operate? It seems impossible.”

“Doesn’t it?” he lets out a small humorless chuckle. “But they’re a miracle worker, I swear. I can run faster than I ever could. But you know, shit like this is expensive.”

It hit the detective all at once. “They’re also in the red ice business, aren’t they? This is how the transplantees get their debts paid.”

The soft smile Pat had adorned faded and his irises turned back to the ground. The same slight nod returned.

“Pat, this is dangerous. The side effects could cause irreparable damage, not to mention those legs are not designed for human use.”

“I know, but I-”

When he met Connor’s eyes again, he could see the tears forming.

“-I just wanted to walk again.”

That was it. That was all Pat had to say. Connor was confident that this would work, though.

“Pat, who did this? Who organized the surgery?”

His stress level spiked to 77%.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll kill me, man! I just wanna walk, not fucking die!” he screamed, slowly rocking back and forth seemingly without realizing it.

“Okay, okay!” Connor raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, thankful that the stress level soon went back down. 

Pat relaxed in his chair, suddenly seeming very exhausted by this whole endeavor. 

“Would you mind if we took pictures of your legs?” Connor politely inquired, watching his fingers fold together.

“Why?”

“You may not tell us, but we still need to figure out what’s going on. I won’t press you any further if it may cost you your life.”

It felt like Pat let out a breath he’d been holding the entire interrogation. 

“Thank you. Thank you.” he muttered.

Connor nodded before standing up and shuffling towards the door.

“Wait!”

He turned back, glancing at Pat. “What?”

“You never told me your name.”

Didn’t he? Huh. He never forgot to do that. Odd.

Instead of continuing the questioning inside his processor, Connor tried (really unsuccessfully,) to give Pat a warm smile. He wasn’t good at smiling, he’d discovered in his almost whole 3 months of deviancy.

“My name is Connor, Pat.” 

He left without waiting for a response.


End file.
